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satisfaction; floating reminiscences of Lovely Peg, on the other hand, were
constantly struggling for a vent, and urging the Captain to commit himself
by some irreparable demonstration. Anon, his admiration of Florence and
Walter - well-matched, truly, and full of grace and interest in their youth,
and love, and good looks, as they sat apart - would take such complete
possession of hIm, that he would lay down his cards, and beam upon them,
dabbing his head all over with his pockethandkerchief; until warned,
perhaps, by the sudden rushing forth of Mr Toots, that he had unconsciously
been very instrumental, indeed, in making that gentleman miserable. This
reflection would make the Captain profoundly melancholy, until the return of
Mr Toots; when he would fall to his cards again, with many side winks and
nods, and polite waves of his hook at Miss Nipper, importing that he wasn't
going to do so any more. The state that ensued on this, was, perhaps, his
best; for then, endeavouring to discharge all expression from his face, he
would sit staring round the room, with all these expressions conveyed into
it at once, and each wrestling with the other. Delighted admiration of
Florence and Walter always overthrew the rest, and remained victorious and
undisguised, unless Mr Toots made another rush into the air, and then the
Captain would sit, like a remorseful culprit, until he came back again,
occasionally calling upon himself, in a low reproachful voice, to 'Stand
by!' or growling some remonstrance to 'Ed'ard Cuttle, my lad,' on the want
of caution observabl in his behaviour.
One of Mr Toots's hardest trials, however, was of his own seeking. On
the approach of the Sunday which was to witness the last of those askings in
church of which the Captain had spoken, Mr Toots thus stated his feelings to
Susan Nipper.
'Susan,' said Mr Toots, 'I am drawn towards the building. The words
which cut me off from Miss Dombey for ever, will strike upon my ears like a
knell you know, but upon my word and honour, I feel that I must hear them.
Therefore,' said Mr Toots, 'will you accompany me to-morrow, to the sacred
edifice?'
Miss Nipper expressed her readiness to do so, if that would be any
satisfaction to Mr Toots, but besought him to abandon his idea of going.
'Susan,' returned Mr Toots, with much solemnity, 'before my whiskers
began to be observed by anybody but myself, I adored Miss Dombey. While yet
a victim to the thraldom of Blimber, I adored Miss Dombey. When I could no
longer be kept out of my property, in a legal point of view, and - and
accordingly came into it - I adored Miss Dombey. The banns which consign her
to Lieutenant Walters, and me to - to Gloom, you know,' said Mr Toots, after
hesitating for a strong expression, 'may be dreadful, will be dreadful; but
I feel that I should wish to hear them spoken. I feel that I should wish to
know that the ground wascertainly cut from under me, and that I hadn't a
hope to cherish, or a - or a leg, in short, to - to go upon.'
Susan Nipper could only commiserate Mr Toots's unfortunate condition,
and agree, under these circumstances, to accompany him; which she did next
morning.
The church Walter had chosen for the purpose, was a mouldy old church
in a yard, hemmed in by a labyrinth of back streets and courts, with a
little burying-ground round it, and itself buried in a kind of vault, formed
by the neighbouring houses, and paved with echoing stones It was a great
dim, shabby pile, with high old oaken pews, among which about a score of
people lost themselves every Sunday; while the clergyman's voice drowsily
resounded through the emptiness, and the organ rumbled and rolled as if the
church had got the colic, for want of a congregation to keep the wind and
damp out. But so far was this city church from languishing for the company
of other churches, that spires were clustered round it, as the masts of
shipping cluster on the river. It would have been hard to count them from
its steeple-top, they were so many. In almost every yard and blind-place
near, there was a church. The confusion of bells when Susan and Mr Toots
betook themselves towards it on the Sunday morning, was deafening. There
were twenty churches close together, clamouring for people to come in.
The two stray sheep in question were penned by a beadle in a commodious
pew, and, being early, sat for some time counting the congregation,
listening to the disappointed bell high up in the tower, or looking at a
shabby little old man in the porch behind the screen, who was ringing the
same, like the Bull in Cock Robin,' with his foot in a stirrup. Mr Toots,
after a lengthened survey of the large books on the reading-desk, whispered
Miss Nipper that he wondered where the banns were kept, but that young lady
merely shook her head and frowned; repelling for the time all approaches of
a temporal nature.
Mr Toots, however, appearing unable to keep his thoughts from the
banns, was evidently looking out for them during the whole preliminary
portion of the service. As the time for reading them approached, the poor
young gentleman manifested great anxiety and trepidation, which was not
diminished by the unexpected apparition of the Captain in the front row of
the gallery. When the clerk handed up a list to the clergyman, Mr Toots,
being then seated, held on by the seat of the pew; but when the names of
Walter Gay and Florence Dombey were read aloud as being in the third and
last stage of that association, he was so entirley conquered by his feelings
as to rush from the church without his hat, followed by the beadle and
pew-opener, and two gentlemen of the medical profeesion, who happened to be
present; of whom the first-named presently returned for that article,
informing Miss Nipper in a whisper that she was not to make herself uneasy
about the gentleman, as the gentleman said his indisposition was of no
consequence.
Miss Nipper, feeling that the eyes of that integral portion of Europe
which lost itself weekly among the high-backed pews, were upon her, would
have been sufficient embarrassed by this incident, though it had terminated
here; the more so, as the Captain in the front row of the gallery, was in a
state of unmitigated consciousness which could hardly fail to express to the
congregation that he had some mysterious connection with it. But the extreme
restlessness of Mr Toots painfully increased and protracted the delicacy of
her situation. That young gentleman, incapable, in his state of mind, of
remaining alone in the churchyard, a prey to solitary meditation, and also
desirous, no doubt, of testifying his respect for the offices he had in some
measure interrupted, suddenly returned - not coming back to the pew, but
stationing himself on a free seat in the aisle, between two elderly females
who were in the habit of receiving their portion of a weekly dole of bread
then set forth on a shelf in the porch. In this conjunction Mr Toots
remained, greatly disturbing the congregation, who felt it impossible to
avoid looking at him, until his feelings overcame him again, when he
departed silently and suddenly. Not venturing to trust himself in the church
any more, and yet wishing to have some social participation in what was
going on there, Mr Toots was, after this, seen from time to time, looking
in, with a lorn aspect, at one or other of the windows; and as there were
several windows accessible to him from without, and as his restlessness was
very great, it not only became difficult to conceive at which window he
would appear next, but likewise became necessary, as it were, for the whole
congregation to speculate upon the chances of the different windows, during
the comparative leisure afforded them by the sermon. Mr Toots's movements in
the churchyard were so eccentric, that he seemed generally to defeat all
calculation, and to appear, like the conjuror's figure, where he was least
expected; and the effect of these mysterious presentations was much
increased by its being difficult to him to see in, and easy to everybody
else to see out: which occasioned his remaining, every time, longer than
might have been expected, with his face close to the glass, until he all at
once became aware that all eyes were upon him, and vanished.
These proceedings on the part of Mr Toots, and the strong individual
consciousness of them that was exhibited by the Captain, rendered Miss
Nipper's position so responsible a one, that she was mightily relieved by
the conclusion of the service; and was hardly so affable to Mr Toots as
usual, when he informed her and the Captain, on the way back, that now he
was sure he had no hope, you know, he felt more comfortable - at least not
exactly more comfortable, but more comfortably and completely miserable.
Swiftly now, indeed, the time flew by until it was the evening before
the day appointed for the marriage. They were all assembled in the upper
room at the Midshipman's, and had no fear of interruption; for there were no
lodgers in the house now, and the Midshipman had it all to himself. They
were grave and quiet in the prospect of to-morrow, but moderately cheerful
too. Florence, with Walter close beside her, was finishing a little piece of
work intended as a parting gift to the Captain. The Captain was playing
cribbage with Mr Toots. Mr Toots was taking counsel as to his hand, of Susan
Nipper. Miss Nipper was giving it, with all due secrecy and circumspection.
Diogenes was listening, and occasionally breaking out into a gruff
half-smothered fragment of a bark, of which he afterwards seemed
half-ashamed, as if he doubted having any reason for it.
'Steady, steady!' said the Captain to Diogenes, 'what's amiss with you?
You don't seem easy in your mind to-night, my boy!'
Diogenes wagged his tail, but pricked up his ears immediately
afterwards, and gave utterance to another fragment of a bark; for which he
apologised to the Captain, by again wagging his tail.
'It's my opinion, Di,' said the Captain, looking thoughtfully at his
cards, and stroking his chin with his hook, 'as you have your doubts of Mrs
Richards; but if you're the animal I take you to be, you'll think better o'
that; for her looks is her commission. Now, Brother:' to Mr Toots: 'if so be
as you're ready, heave ahead.'
The Captain spoke with all composure and attention to the game, but
suddenly his cards dropped out of his hand, his mouth and eyes opened wide,
his legs drew themselves up and stuck out in front of his chair, and he sat
staring at the door with blank amazement. Looking round upon the company,
and seeing that none of them observed him or the cause of his astonishment,
the Captain recovered himself with a great gasp, struck the table a
tremendous blow, cried in a stentorian roar, 'Sol Gills ahoy!' and tumbled
into the arms of a weather-beaten pea-coat that had come with Polly into the
room.
In another moment, Walter was in the arms of the weather-beaten
pea-coat. In another moment, Florence was in the arms of the weather-beaten
pea-coat. In another moment, Captain Cuttle had embraced Mrs Richards and
Miss Nipper, and was violently shaking hands with Mr Toots, exclaiming, as
he waved his hook above his head, 'Hooroar, my lad, hooroar!' To which Mr
Toots, wholly at a loss to account for these proceedings, replied with great
politeness, 'Certainly, Captain Gills, whatever you think proper!'
The weather-beaten pea-coat, and a no less weather-beaten cap and
comforter belonging to it, turned from the Captain and from Florence back to
Walter, and sounds came from the weather-beaten pea-coat, cap, and
comforter, as of an old man sobbing underneath them; while the shaggy
sleeves clasped Walter tight. During this pause, there was an universal
silence, and the Captain polished his nose with great diligence. But when
the pea-coat, cap, and comforter lifted themselves up again, Florence gently
moved towards them; and she and Walter taking them off, disclosed the old
Instrument-maker, a little thinner and more careworn than of old, in his old
Welsh wig and his old coffee-coloured coat and basket buttons, with his old
infallible chronometer ticking away in his pocket.
'Chock full o' science,' said the radiant Captain, 'as ever he was! Sol
Gills, Sol Gills, what have you been up to, for this many a long day, my
ould boy?'
'I'm half blind, Ned,' said the old man, 'and almost deaf and dumb with
joy.'
'His wery woice,' said the Captain, looking round with an exultation to
which even his face could hardly render justice - 'his wery woice as chock
full o' science as ever it was! Sol Gills, lay to, my lad, upon your own
wines and fig-trees like a taut ould patriark as you are, and overhaul them
there adwentures o' yourn, in your own formilior woice. 'Tis the woice,'
said the Captain, impressively, and announcing a quotation with his hook,
'of the sluggard, I heerd him complain, you have woke me too soon, I must
slumber again. Scatter his ene-mies, and make 'em fall!'
The Captain sat down with the air of a man who had happily expressed
the feeling of everybody present, and immediately rose again to present Mr
Toots, who was much disconcerted by the arrival of anybody, appearing to
prefer a claim to the name of Gills.
'Although,' stammered Mr Toots, 'I had not the pleasure of your
acquaintance, Sir, before you were - you were - '
'Lost to sight, to memory dear,' suggested the Captain, in a low voice.
Exactly so, Captain Gills!' assented Mr Toots. 'Although I had not the
pleasure of your acquaintance, Mr - Mr Sols,' said Toots, hitting on that
name in the inspiration of a bright idea, 'before that happened, I have the
greatest pleasure, I assure you, in - you know, in knowing you. I hope,'
said Mr Toots, 'that you're as well as can be expected.'
With these courteous words, Mr Toots sat down blushing and chuckling.
The old Instrument-maker, seated in a corner between Walter and
Florence, and nodding at Polly, who was looking on, all smiles and delight,
answered the Captain thus:
'Ned Cuttle, my dear boy, although I have heard something of the
changes of events here, from my pleasant friend there - what a pleasant face
she has to be sure, to welcome a wanderer home!' said the old man, breaking
off, and rubbing his hands in his old dreamy way.
'Hear him!' cried the Captain gravely. ''Tis woman as seduces all
mankind. For which,' aside to Mr Toots, 'you'll overhaul your Adam and Eve,
brother.'
'I shall make a point of doing so, Captain Gills,' said Mr Toots.
'Although I have heard something of the changes of events, from her,'
resumed the Instrument-maker, taking his old spectacles from his pocket, and
putting them on his forehead in his old manner, 'they are so great and
unexpected, and I am so overpowered by the sight of my dear boy, and by
the,' - glancing at the downcast eyes of Florence, and not attempting to
finish the sentence - 'that I - I can't say much to-night. But my dear Ned
Cuttle, why didn't you write?'
The astonishment depicted in the Captain's features positively
frightened Mr Toots, whose eyes were quite fixed by it, so that he could not
withdraw them from his face.
'Write!' echoed the Captain. 'Write, Sol Gills?'
'Ay,' said the old man, 'either to Barbados, or Jamaica, or Demerara,
That was what I asked.'
'What you asked, Sol Gills?' repeated the Captain.
'Ay,' said the old man. 'Don't you know, Ned? Sure you have not
forgotten? Every time I wrote to you.'
The Captain took off his glazed hat, hung it on his hook, and smoothing
his hair from behind with his hand, sat gazing at the group around him: a
perfect image of wondering resignation.
'You don't appear to understand me, Ned!' observed old Sol.
'Sol Gills,' returned the Captain, after staring at him and the rest
for a long time, without speaking, 'I'm gone about and adrift. Pay out a
word or two respecting them adwenturs, will you! Can't I bring up, nohows?
Nohows?' said the Captain, ruminating, and staring all round.
'You know, Ned,' said Sol Gills, 'why I left here. Did you open my
packet, Ned?'
'Why, ay, ay,' said the Captain. 'To be sure, I opened the packet.'
'And read it?' said the old man.
'And read it,' answered the Captain, eyeing him attentively, and
proceeding to quote it from memory. '"My dear Ned Cuttle, when I left home
for the West Indies in forlorn search of intelligence of my dear-" There he
sits! There's Wal'r!' said the Captain, as if he were relieved by getting
hold of anything that was real and indisputable.
'Well, Ned. Now attend a moment!' said the old man. 'When I wrote first
- that was from Barbados - I said that though you would receive that letter
long before the year was out, I should be glad if you would open the packet,
as it explained the reason of my going away. Very good, Ned. When I wrote
the second, third, and perhaps the fourth times - that was from Jamaica - I
said I was in just the same state, couldn't rest, and couldn't come away
from that part of the world, without knowing that my boy was lost or saved.
When I wrote next - that, I think, was from Demerara, wasn't it?'
'That he thinks was from Demerara, warn't it!' said the Captain,
looking hopelessly round.
'I said,' proceeded old Sol, 'that still there was no certain
information got yet. That I found many captains and others, in that part of
the world, who had known me for years, and who assisted me with a passage
here and there, and for whom I was able, now and then, to do a little in
return, in my own craft. That everyone was sorry for me, and seemed to take
a sort of interest in my wanderings; and that I began to think it would be
my fate to cruise about in search of tidings of my boy, until I died.'
'Began to think as how he was a scientific Flying Dutchman!' said the
Captain, as before, and with great seriousness.
'But when the news come one day, Ned, - that was to Barbados, after I
got back there, - that a China trader home'ard bound had been spoke, that
had my boy aboard, then, Ned, I took passage in the next ship and came home;
arrived at home to-night to find it true, thank God!' said the old man,
devoutly.
The Captain, after bowing his head with great reverence, stared all
round the circle, beginning with Mr Toots, and ending with the
Instrument-maker; then gravely said:
'Sol Gills! The observation as I'm a-going to make is calc'lated to
blow every stitch of sail as you can carry, clean out of the bolt-ropes, and
bring you on your beam ends with a lurch. Not one of them letters was ever
delivered to Ed'ard Cuttle. Not one o' them letters,' repeated the Captain,
to make his declaration the more solemn and impressive, 'was ever delivered
unto Ed'ard Cuttle, Mariner, of England, as lives at home at ease, and doth
improve each shining hour!'
'And posted by my own hand! And directed by my own hand, Number nine
Brig Place!' exclaimed old Sol.
The colour all went out of the Captain's face and all came back again
in a glow.
'What do you mean, Sol Gills, my friend, by Number nine Brig Place?'
inquired the Captain.
'Mean? Your lodgings, Ned,' returned the old man. 'Mrs What's-her-name!
I shall forget my own name next, but I am behind the present time - I always
was, you recollect - and very much confused. Mrs - '
'Sol Gills!' said the Captain, as if he were putting the most
improbable case in the world, 'it ain't the name of MacStinger as you're a
trying to remember?'
'Of course it is!' exclaimed the Instrument-maker. 'To be sure Ned. Mrs
MacStinger!'
Captain Cuttle, whose eyes were now as wide open as they would be, and
the knobs upon whose face were perfectly luminous, gave a long shrill
whistle of a most melancholy sound, and stood gazing at everybody in a state
of speechlessness.
'Overhaul that there again, Sol Gills, will you be so kind?' he said at
last.
'All these letters,' returned Uncle Sol, beating time with the
forefinger of his right hand upon the palm of his left, with a steadiness
and distinctness that might have done honour, even to the infallible
chronometer in his pocket, 'I posted with my own hand, and directed with my
own hand, to Captain Cuttle, at Mrs MacStinger's, Number nine Brig Place.'
The Captain took his glazed hat off his hook, looked into it, put it
on, and sat down.
'Why, friends all,' said the Captain, staring round in the last state
of discomfiture, 'I cut and run from there!'
'And no one knew where you were gone, Captain Cuttle?' cried Walter
hastily.
'Bless your heart, Wal'r,' said the Captain, shaking his head, 'she'd
never have allowed o' my coming to take charge o' this here property.
Nothing could be done but cut and run. Lord love you, Wal'r!' said the
Captain, 'you've only seen her in a calm! But see her when her angry
passions rise - and make a note on!'
'I'd give it her!' remarked the Nipper, softly.
'Would you, do you think, my dear?' returned the Captain, with feeble
admiration. 'Well, my dear, it does you credit. But there ain't no wild
animal I wouldn't sooner face myself. I only got my chest away by means of a
friend as nobody's a match for. It was no good sending any letter there. She
wouldn't take in any letter, bless you,' said the Captain, 'under them
circumstances! Why, you could hardly make it worth a man's while to be the
postman!'
'Then it's pretty clear, Captain Cuttle, that all of us, and you and
Uncle Sol especially,' said Walter, 'may thank Mrs MacStinger for no small
anxiety.'
The general obligation in this wise to the determined relict of the
late Mr MacStinger, was so apparent, that the Captain did not contest the
point; but being in some measure ashamed of his position, though nobody
dwelt upon the subject, and Walter especially avoided it, remembering the
last conversation he and the Captain had held together respecting it, he
remained under a cloud for nearly five minutes - an extraordinary period for
him when that sun, his face, broke out once more, shining on all beholders
with extraordinary brilliancy; and he fell into a fit of shaking hands with
everybody over and over again.
At an early hour, but not before Uncle Sol and Walter had questioned
each other at some length about their voyages and dangers, they all, except
Walter, vacated Florence's room, and went down to the parlour. Here they
were soon afterwards joined by Walter, who told them Florence was a little
sorrowful and heavy-hearted, and had gone to bed. Though they could not have
disturbed her with their voices down there, they all spoke in a whisper
after this: and each, in his different way, felt very lovingly and gently
towards Walter's fair young bride: and a long explanation there was of
everything relating to her, for the satisfaction of Uncle Sol; and very
sensible Mr Toots was of the delicacy with which Walter made his name and
services important, and his presence necessary to their little council.
'Mr Toots,' said Walter, on parting with him at the house door, 'we
shall see each other to-morrow morning?'
'Lieutenant Walters,' returned Mr Toots, grasping his hand fervently,
'I shall certainly be present.
'This is the last night we shall meet for a long time - the last night
we may ever meet,' said Walter. 'Such a noble heart as yours, must feel, I
think, when another heart is bound to it. I hope you know that I am very
grateful to you?'
'Walters,' replied Mr Toots, quite touched, 'I should be glad to feel
that you had reason to be so.'
'Florence,' said Walter, 'on this last night of her bearing her own
name, has made me promise - it was only just now, when you left us together
- that I would tell you - with her dear love - '
Mr Toots laid his hand upon the doorpost, and his eyes upon his hand.
- with her dear love,' said Walter, 'that she can never have a friend
whom she will value above you. That the recollection of your true
consideration for her always, can never be forgotten by her. That she
remembers you in her prayers to-night, and hopes that you will think of her
when she is far away. Shall I say anything for you?'
'Say, Walter,' replied Mr Toots indistinctly, 'that I shall think of
her every day, but never without feeling happy to know that she is married
to the man she loves, and who loves her. Say, if you please, that I am sure
her husband deserves her - even her!- and that I am glad of her choice.'
Mr Toots got more distinct as he came to these last words, and raising
his eyes from the doorpost, said them stoutly. He then shook Walter's hand
again with a fervour that Walter was not slow to return and started
homeward.
Mr Toots was accompanied by the Chicken, whom he had of late brought
with him every evening, and left in the shop, with an idea that unforeseen
circumstances might arise from without, in which the prowess of that
distinguished character would be of service to the Midshipman. The Chicken
did not appear to be in a particularly good humour on this occasion. Either
the gas-lamps were treacherous, or he cocked his eye in a hideous manner,
and likewise distorted his nose, when Mr Toots, crossing the road, looked
back over his shoulder at the room where Florence slept. On the road home,
he was more demonstrative of aggressive intentions against the other
foot-passengers, than comported with a professor of the peaceful art of
self-defence. Arrived at home, instead of leaving Mr Toots in his apartments
when he had escorted him thither, he remained before him weighing his white
hat in both hands by the brim, and twitching his head and nose (both of
which had been many times broken, and but indifferently repaired), with an
air of decided disrespect.
His patron being much engaged with his own thoughts, did not observe
this for some time, nor indeed until the Chicken, determined not to be
overlooked, had made divers clicking sounds with his tongue and teeth, to
attract attention.
'Now, Master,' said the Chicken, doggedly, when he, at length, caught
Mr Toots's eye, 'I want to know whether this here gammon is to finish it, or
whether you're a going in to win?'
'Chicken,' returned Mr Toots, 'explain yourself.'
'Why then, here's all about it, Master,' said the Chicken. 'I ain't a
cove to chuck a word away. Here's wot it is. Are any on 'em to be doubled
up?'
When the Chicken put this question he dropped his hat, made a dodge and
a feint with his left hand, hit a supposed enemy a violent blow with his
right, shook his head smartly, and recovered himself'
'Come, Master,' said the Chicken. 'Is it to be gammon or pluck? Which?'
Chicken,' returned Mr Toots, 'your expressions are coarse, and your
meaning is obscure.'
'Why, then, I tell you what, Master,' said the Chicken. 'This is where
it is. It's mean.'
'What is mean, Chicken?' asked Mr Toots.
'It is,' said the Chicken, with a frightful corrugation of his broken
nose. 'There! Now, Master! Wot! When you could go and blow on this here
match to the stiff'un;' by which depreciatory appellation it has been since
supposed that the Game One intended to signify Mr Dombey; 'and when you
could knock the winner and all the kit of 'em dead out o' wind and time, are
you going to give in? To give in? 'said the Chicken, with contemptuous
emphasis. 'Wy, it's mean!'
'Chicken,' said Mr Toots, severely, 'you're a perfect Vulture! Your
sentiments are atrocious.'
'My sentiments is Game and Fancy, Master,' returned the Chicken.
'That's wot my sentiments is. I can't abear a meanness. I'm afore the
public, I'm to be heerd on at the bar of the Little Helephant, and no
Gov'ner o' mine mustn't go and do what's mean. Wy, it's mean,' said the
Chicken, with increased expression. 'That's where it is. It's mean.'
'Chicken,' said Mr Toots, 'you disgust me.'
'Master,' returned the Chicken, putting on his hat, 'there's a pair on
us, then. Come! Here's a offer! You've spoke to me more than once't or
twice't about the public line. Never mind! Give me a fi'typunnote to-morrow,
and let me go.'
'Chicken,' returned Mr Toots, 'after the odious sentiments you have
expressed, I shall be glad to part on such terms.'
'Done then,' said the Chicken. 'It's a bargain. This here conduct of
yourn won't suit my book, Master. Wy, it's mean,' said the Chicken; who
seemed equally unable to get beyond that point, and to stop short of it.
'That's where it is; it's mean!'
So Mr Toots and the Chicken agreed to part on this incompatibility of
moral perception; and Mr Toots lying down to sleep, dreamed happily of
Florence, who had thought of him as her friend upon the last night of her
maiden life, and who had sent him her dear love.
Another Wedding
Mr Sownds the beadle, and Mrs Miff the pew-opener, are early at their
posts in the fine church where Mr Dombey was married. A yellow-faced old
gentleman from India, is going to take unto himself a young wife this
morning, and six carriages full of company are expected, and Mrs Miff has
been informed that the yellow-faced old gentleman could pave the road to
church with diamonds and hardly miss them. The nuptial benediction is to be
a superior one, proceeding from a very reverend, a dean, and the lady is to
be given away, as an extraordinary present, by somebody who comes express
from the Horse Guards
Mrs Miff is more intolerant of common people this morning, than she
generally is; and she his always strong opinions on that subject, for it is
associated with free sittings. Mrs Miff is not a student of political
economy (she thinks the science is connected with dissenters; 'Baptists or
Wesleyans, or some o' them,' she says), but she can never understand what
business your common folks have to be married. 'Drat 'em,' says Mrs Miff
'you read the same things over 'em' and instead of sovereigns get
sixpences!'
Mr Sownds the beadle is more liberal than Mrs Miff - but then he is not
a pew-opener. 'It must be done, Ma'am,' he says. 'We must marry 'em. We must
have our national schools to walk at the head of, and we must have our
standing armies. We must marry 'em, Ma'am,' says Mr Sownds, 'and keep the
country going.'
Mr Sownds is sitting on the steps and Mrs Miff is dusting in the
church, when a young couple, plainly dressed, come in. The mortified bonnet
of Mrs Miff is sharply turned towards them, for she espies in this early
visit indications of a runaway match. But they don't want to be married -
'Only,' says the gentleman, 'to walk round the church.' And as he slips a
genteel compliment into the palm of Mrs Miff, her vinegary face relaxes, and
her mortified bonnet and her spare dry figure dip and crackle.
Mrs Miff resumes her dusting and plumps up her cushions - for the
yellow-faced old gentleman is reported to have tender knees - but keeps her
glazed, pew-opening eye on the young couple who are walking round the
church. 'Ahem,' coughs Mrs Miff whose cough is drier than the hay in any
hassock in her charge, 'you'll come to us one of these mornings, my dears,
unless I'm much mistaken!'
They are looking at a tablet on the wall, erected to the memory of
someone dead. They are a long way off from Mrs Miff, but Mrs Miff can see
with half an eye how she is leaning on his arm, and how his head is bent
down over her. 'Well, well,' says Mrs Miff, 'you might do worse. For you're
a tidy pair!'
There is nothing personal in Mrs Miff's remark. She merely speaks of
stock-in-trade. She is hardly more curious in couples than in coffins. She
is such a spare, straight, dry old lady - such a pew of a woman - that you
should find as many individual sympathies in a chip. Mr Sownds, now, who is
fleshy, and has scarlet in his coat, is of a different temperament. He says,
as they stand upon the steps watching the young couple away, that she has a
pretty figure, hasn't she, and as well as he could see (for she held her
head down coming out), an uncommon pretty face. 'Altogether, Mrs Miff,' says
Mr Sownds with a relish, 'she is what you may call a rose-bud.'
Mrs Miff assents with a spare nod of her mortified bonnet; but approves
of this so little, that she inwardly resolves she wouldn't be the wife of Mr
Sownds for any money he could give her, Beadle as he is.
And what are the young couple saying as they leave the church, and go
out at the gate?
'Dear Walter, thank you! I can go away, now, happy.'
'And when we come back, Florence, we will come and see his grave
again.'
Florence lifts her eyes, so bright with tears, to his kind face; and
clasps her disengaged hand on that other modest little hand which clasps his
arm.
'It is very early, Walter, and the streets are almost empty yet. Let us
walk.'
'But you will be so tired, my love.'
'Oh no! I was very tired the first time that we ever walked together,
but I shall not be so to-day.' And thus - not much changed - she, as
innocent and earnest-hearted - he, as frank, as hopeful, and more proud of
her - Florence and Walter, on their bridal morning, walk through the streets
together.
Not even in that childish walk of long ago, were they so far removed
from all the world about them as to-day. The childish feet of long ago, did
not tread such enchanted ground as theirs do now. The confidence and love of
children may be given many times, and will spring up in many places; but the
woman's heart of Florence, with its undivided treasure, can be yielded only
once, and under slight or change, can only droop and die.
They take the streets that are the quietest, and do not go near that in
which her old home stands. It is a fair, warm summer morning, and the sun
shines on them, as they walk towards the darkening mist that overspreads the
City. Riches are uncovering in shops; jewels, gold, and silver flash in the
goldsmith's sunny windows; and great houses cast a stately shade upon them
as they pass. But through the light, and through the shade, they go on
lovingly together, lost to everything around; thinking of no other riches,
and no prouder home, than they have now in one another.
Gradually they come into the darker, narrower streets, where the sun,
now yellow, and now red, is seen through the mist, only at street corners,
and in small open spaces where there is a tree, or one of the innumerable
churches, or a paved way and a flight of steps, or a curious little patch of
garden, or a burying-ground, where the few tombs and tombstones are almost
black. Lovingly and trustfully, through all the narrow yards and alleys and
the shady streets, Florence goes, clinging to his arm, to be his wife.
Her heart beats quicker now, for Walter tells her that their church is
very near. They pass a few great stacks of warehouses, with waggons at the
doors, and busy carmen stopping up the way - but Florence does not see or
hear them - and then the air is quiet, and the day is darkened, and she is
trembling in a church which has a strange smell like a cellar.
The shabby little old man, ringer of the disappointed bell, is standing
in the porch, and has put his hat in the font - for he is quite at home
there, being sexton. He ushers them into an old brown, panelled, dusty
vestry, like a corner-cupboard with the shelves taken out; where the wormy
registers diffuse a smell like faded snuff, which has set the tearful Nipper
sneezing.
Youthful, and how beautiful, the young bride looks, in this old dusty
place, with no kindred object near her but her husband. There is a dusty old
clerk, who keeps a sort of evaporated news shop underneath an archway
opposite, behind a perfect fortification of posts. There is a dusty old
pew-opener who only keeps herself, and finds that quite enough to do. There
is a dusty old beadle (these are Mr Toots's beadle and pew-opener of last
Sunday), who has something to do with a Worshipful Company who have got a
Hall in the next yard, with a stained-glass window in it that no mortal ever
saw. There are dusty wooden ledges and cornices poked in and out over the
altar, and over the screen and round the gallery, and over the inscription
about what the Master and Wardens of the Worshipful Company did in one
thousand six hundred and ninety-four. There are dusty old sounding-boards
over the pulpit and reading-desk, looking like lids to be let down on the
officiating ministers in case of their giving offence. There is every
possible provision for the accommodation of dust, except in the churchyard,
where the facilities in that respect are very limited. The Captain, Uncle
Sol, and Mr Toots are come; the clergyman is putting on his surplice in the
vestry, while the clerk walks round him, blowing the dust off it; and the
bride and bridegroom stand before the altar. There is no bridesmaid, unless
Susan Nipper is one; and no better father than Captain Cuttle. A man with a
wooden leg, chewing a faint apple and carrying a blue bag in has hand, looks
in to see what is going on; but finding it nothing entertaining, stumps off
again, and pegs his way among the echoes out of doors.
No gracious ray of light is seen to fall on Florence, kneeling at the
altar with her timid head bowed down. The morning luminary is built out, and
don't shine there. There is a meagre tree outside, where the sparrows are
chirping a little; and there is a blackbird in an eyelet-hole of sun in a
dyer's garret, over against the window, who whistles loudly whilst the
service is performing; and there is the man with the wooden leg stumping
away. The amens of the dusty clerk appear, like Macbeth's, to stick in his
throat a little'; but Captain Cuttle helps him out, and does it with so much
goodwill that he interpolates three entirely new responses of that word,
never introduced into the service before.
They are married, and have signed their names in one of the old sneezy
registers, and the clergyman's surplice is restored to the dust, and the
clergymam is gone home. In a dark corner of the dark church, Florence has
turned to Susan Nipper, and is weeping in her arms. Mr Toots's eyes are red.
The Captain lubricates his nose. Uncle Sol has pulled down his spectacles
from his forehead, and walked out to the door.
'God bless you, Susan; dearest Susan! If you ever can bear witness to
the love I have for Walter, and the reason that I have to love him, do it
for his sake. Good-bye! Good-bye!'
They have thought it better not to go back to the Midshipman, but to
part so; a coach is waiting for them, near at hand.
Miss Nipper cannot speak; she only sobs and chokes, and hugs her
mistress. Mr Toots advances, urges her to cheer up, and takes charge of her.
Florence gives him her hand - gives him, in the fulness of her heart, her
lips - kisses Uncle Sol, and Captain Cuttle, and is borne away by her young
husband.
But Susan cannot bear that Florence should go away with a mournful
recollection of her. She had meant to be so different, that she reproaches
herself bitterly. Intent on making one last effort to redeem her character,
she breaks from Mr Toots and runs away to find the coach, and show a parting
smile. The Captain, divining her object, sets off after her; for he feels it
his duty also to dismiss them with a cheer, if possible. Uncle Sol and Mr
Toots are left behind together, outside the church, to wait for them.
The coach is gone, but the street is steep, and narrow, and blocked up,
and Susan can see it at a stand-still in the distance, she is sure. Captain
Cuttle follows her as she flies down the hill, and waves his glazed hat as a
general signal, which may attract the right coach and which may not.
Susan outstrips the Captain, and comes up with it. She looks in at the
window, sees Walter, with the gentle face beside him, and claps her hands
and screams:
'Miss Floy, my darling! look at me! We are all so happy now, dear! One
more good-bye, my precious, one more!'
How Susan does it, she don't know, but she reaches to the window,
kisses her, and has her arms about her neck, in a moment.
We are all so happy now, my dear Miss Floy!' says Susan, with a
suspicious catching in her breath. 'You, you won't be angry with me now. Now
will you?'
'Angry, Susan!'
'No, no; I am sure you won't. I say you won't, my pet, my dearest!'
exclaims Susan; 'and here's the Captain too - your friend the Captain, you
know - to say good-bye once more!'
'Hooroar, my Heart's Delight!' vociferates the Captain, with a
countenance of strong emotion. 'Hooroar, Wal'r my lad. Hooroar! Hooroar!'
What with the young husband at one window, and the young wife at the
other; the Captain hanging on at this door, and Susan Nipper holding fast by
that; the coach obliged to go on whether it will or no, and all the other
carts and coaches turbulent because it hesitates; there never was so much
confusion on four wheels. But Susan Nipper gallantly maintains her point.
She keeps a smiling face upon her mistress, smiling through her tears, until
the last. Even when she is left behind, the Captain continues to appear and
disappear at the door, crying 'Hooroar, my lad! Hooroar, my Heart's
Delight!' with his shirt-collar in a violent state of agitation, until it is
hopeless to attempt to keep up with the coach any longer. Finally, when the
coach is gone, Susan Nipper, being rejoined by the Captain, falls into a
state of insensibility, and is taken into a baker's shop to recover.
Uncle Sol and Mr Toots wait patiently in the churchyard, sitting on the
coping-stone of the railings, until Captain Cuttle and Susan come back,
Neither being at all desirous to speak, or to be spoken to, they are
excellent company, and quite satisfied. When they all arrive again at the
little Midshipman, and sit down to breakfast, nobody can touch a morsel.
Captain Cuttle makes a feint of being voracious about toast, but gives it up
as a swindle. Mr Toots says, after breakfast, he will come back in the
evening; and goes wandering about the town all day, with a vague sensation
upon him as if he hadn't been to bed for a fortnight.
There is a strange charm in the house, and in the room, in which they
have been used to be together, and out of which so much is gone. It
aggravates, and yet it soothes, the sorrow of the separation. Mr Toots tells
Susan Nipper when he comes at night, that he hasn't been so wretched all day
long, and yet he likes it. He confides in Susan Nipper, being alone with
her, and tells her what his feelings were when she gave him that candid
opinion as to the probability of Miss Dombey's ever loving him. In the vein
of confidence engendered by these common recollections, and their tears, Mr
Toots proposes that they shall go out together, and buy something for
supper. Miss Nipper assenting, they buy a good many little things; and, with
the aid of Mrs Richards, set the supper out quite showily before the Captain
and old Sol came home.
The Captain and old Sol have been on board the ship, and have
established Di there, and have seen the chests put aboard. They have much to
tell about the popularity of Walter, and the comforts he will have about
him, and the quiet way in which it seems he has been working early and late,
to make his cabin what the Captain calls 'a picter,' to surprise his little
wife. 'A admiral's cabin, mind you,' says the Captain, 'ain't more trim.'
But one of the Captain's chief delights is, that he knows the big
watch, and the sugar-tongs, and tea-spoons, are on board: and again and
again he murmurs to himself, 'Ed'ard Cuttle, my lad, you never shaped a
better course in your life than when you made that there little property
over jintly. You see how the land bore, Ed'ard,' says the Captain, 'and it
does you credit, my lad.'
The old Instrument-maker is more distraught and misty than he used to
be, and takes the marriage and the parting very much to heart. But he is
greatly comforted by having his old ally, Ned Cuttle, at his side; and he
sits down to supper with a grateful and contented face.
'My boy has been preserved and thrives,' says old Sol Gills, rubbing
his hands. 'What right have I to be otherwise than thankful and happy!'
The Captain, who has not yet taken his seat at the table, but who has
been fidgeting about for some time, and now stands hesitating in his place,
constantly struggling for a vent, and urging the Captain to commit himself
by some irreparable demonstration. Anon, his admiration of Florence and
Walter - well-matched, truly, and full of grace and interest in their youth,
and love, and good looks, as they sat apart - would take such complete
possession of hIm, that he would lay down his cards, and beam upon them,
dabbing his head all over with his pockethandkerchief; until warned,
perhaps, by the sudden rushing forth of Mr Toots, that he had unconsciously
been very instrumental, indeed, in making that gentleman miserable. This
reflection would make the Captain profoundly melancholy, until the return of
Mr Toots; when he would fall to his cards again, with many side winks and
nods, and polite waves of his hook at Miss Nipper, importing that he wasn't
going to do so any more. The state that ensued on this, was, perhaps, his
best; for then, endeavouring to discharge all expression from his face, he
would sit staring round the room, with all these expressions conveyed into
it at once, and each wrestling with the other. Delighted admiration of
Florence and Walter always overthrew the rest, and remained victorious and
undisguised, unless Mr Toots made another rush into the air, and then the
Captain would sit, like a remorseful culprit, until he came back again,
occasionally calling upon himself, in a low reproachful voice, to 'Stand
by!' or growling some remonstrance to 'Ed'ard Cuttle, my lad,' on the want
of caution observabl in his behaviour.
One of Mr Toots's hardest trials, however, was of his own seeking. On
the approach of the Sunday which was to witness the last of those askings in
church of which the Captain had spoken, Mr Toots thus stated his feelings to
Susan Nipper.
'Susan,' said Mr Toots, 'I am drawn towards the building. The words
which cut me off from Miss Dombey for ever, will strike upon my ears like a
knell you know, but upon my word and honour, I feel that I must hear them.
Therefore,' said Mr Toots, 'will you accompany me to-morrow, to the sacred
edifice?'
Miss Nipper expressed her readiness to do so, if that would be any
satisfaction to Mr Toots, but besought him to abandon his idea of going.
'Susan,' returned Mr Toots, with much solemnity, 'before my whiskers
began to be observed by anybody but myself, I adored Miss Dombey. While yet
a victim to the thraldom of Blimber, I adored Miss Dombey. When I could no
longer be kept out of my property, in a legal point of view, and - and
accordingly came into it - I adored Miss Dombey. The banns which consign her
to Lieutenant Walters, and me to - to Gloom, you know,' said Mr Toots, after
hesitating for a strong expression, 'may be dreadful, will be dreadful; but
I feel that I should wish to hear them spoken. I feel that I should wish to
know that the ground wascertainly cut from under me, and that I hadn't a
hope to cherish, or a - or a leg, in short, to - to go upon.'
Susan Nipper could only commiserate Mr Toots's unfortunate condition,
and agree, under these circumstances, to accompany him; which she did next
morning.
The church Walter had chosen for the purpose, was a mouldy old church
in a yard, hemmed in by a labyrinth of back streets and courts, with a
little burying-ground round it, and itself buried in a kind of vault, formed
by the neighbouring houses, and paved with echoing stones It was a great
dim, shabby pile, with high old oaken pews, among which about a score of
people lost themselves every Sunday; while the clergyman's voice drowsily
resounded through the emptiness, and the organ rumbled and rolled as if the
church had got the colic, for want of a congregation to keep the wind and
damp out. But so far was this city church from languishing for the company
of other churches, that spires were clustered round it, as the masts of
shipping cluster on the river. It would have been hard to count them from
its steeple-top, they were so many. In almost every yard and blind-place
near, there was a church. The confusion of bells when Susan and Mr Toots
betook themselves towards it on the Sunday morning, was deafening. There
were twenty churches close together, clamouring for people to come in.
The two stray sheep in question were penned by a beadle in a commodious
pew, and, being early, sat for some time counting the congregation,
listening to the disappointed bell high up in the tower, or looking at a
shabby little old man in the porch behind the screen, who was ringing the
same, like the Bull in Cock Robin,' with his foot in a stirrup. Mr Toots,
after a lengthened survey of the large books on the reading-desk, whispered
Miss Nipper that he wondered where the banns were kept, but that young lady
merely shook her head and frowned; repelling for the time all approaches of
a temporal nature.
Mr Toots, however, appearing unable to keep his thoughts from the
banns, was evidently looking out for them during the whole preliminary
portion of the service. As the time for reading them approached, the poor
young gentleman manifested great anxiety and trepidation, which was not
diminished by the unexpected apparition of the Captain in the front row of
the gallery. When the clerk handed up a list to the clergyman, Mr Toots,
being then seated, held on by the seat of the pew; but when the names of
Walter Gay and Florence Dombey were read aloud as being in the third and
last stage of that association, he was so entirley conquered by his feelings
as to rush from the church without his hat, followed by the beadle and
pew-opener, and two gentlemen of the medical profeesion, who happened to be
present; of whom the first-named presently returned for that article,
informing Miss Nipper in a whisper that she was not to make herself uneasy
about the gentleman, as the gentleman said his indisposition was of no
consequence.
Miss Nipper, feeling that the eyes of that integral portion of Europe
which lost itself weekly among the high-backed pews, were upon her, would
have been sufficient embarrassed by this incident, though it had terminated
here; the more so, as the Captain in the front row of the gallery, was in a
state of unmitigated consciousness which could hardly fail to express to the
congregation that he had some mysterious connection with it. But the extreme
restlessness of Mr Toots painfully increased and protracted the delicacy of
her situation. That young gentleman, incapable, in his state of mind, of
remaining alone in the churchyard, a prey to solitary meditation, and also
desirous, no doubt, of testifying his respect for the offices he had in some
measure interrupted, suddenly returned - not coming back to the pew, but
stationing himself on a free seat in the aisle, between two elderly females
who were in the habit of receiving their portion of a weekly dole of bread
then set forth on a shelf in the porch. In this conjunction Mr Toots
remained, greatly disturbing the congregation, who felt it impossible to
avoid looking at him, until his feelings overcame him again, when he
departed silently and suddenly. Not venturing to trust himself in the church
any more, and yet wishing to have some social participation in what was
going on there, Mr Toots was, after this, seen from time to time, looking
in, with a lorn aspect, at one or other of the windows; and as there were
several windows accessible to him from without, and as his restlessness was
very great, it not only became difficult to conceive at which window he
would appear next, but likewise became necessary, as it were, for the whole
congregation to speculate upon the chances of the different windows, during
the comparative leisure afforded them by the sermon. Mr Toots's movements in
the churchyard were so eccentric, that he seemed generally to defeat all
calculation, and to appear, like the conjuror's figure, where he was least
expected; and the effect of these mysterious presentations was much
increased by its being difficult to him to see in, and easy to everybody
else to see out: which occasioned his remaining, every time, longer than
might have been expected, with his face close to the glass, until he all at
once became aware that all eyes were upon him, and vanished.
These proceedings on the part of Mr Toots, and the strong individual
consciousness of them that was exhibited by the Captain, rendered Miss
Nipper's position so responsible a one, that she was mightily relieved by
the conclusion of the service; and was hardly so affable to Mr Toots as
usual, when he informed her and the Captain, on the way back, that now he
was sure he had no hope, you know, he felt more comfortable - at least not
exactly more comfortable, but more comfortably and completely miserable.
Swiftly now, indeed, the time flew by until it was the evening before
the day appointed for the marriage. They were all assembled in the upper
room at the Midshipman's, and had no fear of interruption; for there were no
lodgers in the house now, and the Midshipman had it all to himself. They
were grave and quiet in the prospect of to-morrow, but moderately cheerful
too. Florence, with Walter close beside her, was finishing a little piece of
work intended as a parting gift to the Captain. The Captain was playing
cribbage with Mr Toots. Mr Toots was taking counsel as to his hand, of Susan
Nipper. Miss Nipper was giving it, with all due secrecy and circumspection.
Diogenes was listening, and occasionally breaking out into a gruff
half-smothered fragment of a bark, of which he afterwards seemed
half-ashamed, as if he doubted having any reason for it.
'Steady, steady!' said the Captain to Diogenes, 'what's amiss with you?
You don't seem easy in your mind to-night, my boy!'
Diogenes wagged his tail, but pricked up his ears immediately
afterwards, and gave utterance to another fragment of a bark; for which he
apologised to the Captain, by again wagging his tail.
'It's my opinion, Di,' said the Captain, looking thoughtfully at his
cards, and stroking his chin with his hook, 'as you have your doubts of Mrs
Richards; but if you're the animal I take you to be, you'll think better o'
that; for her looks is her commission. Now, Brother:' to Mr Toots: 'if so be
as you're ready, heave ahead.'
The Captain spoke with all composure and attention to the game, but
suddenly his cards dropped out of his hand, his mouth and eyes opened wide,
his legs drew themselves up and stuck out in front of his chair, and he sat
staring at the door with blank amazement. Looking round upon the company,
and seeing that none of them observed him or the cause of his astonishment,
the Captain recovered himself with a great gasp, struck the table a
tremendous blow, cried in a stentorian roar, 'Sol Gills ahoy!' and tumbled
into the arms of a weather-beaten pea-coat that had come with Polly into the
room.
In another moment, Walter was in the arms of the weather-beaten
pea-coat. In another moment, Florence was in the arms of the weather-beaten
pea-coat. In another moment, Captain Cuttle had embraced Mrs Richards and
Miss Nipper, and was violently shaking hands with Mr Toots, exclaiming, as
he waved his hook above his head, 'Hooroar, my lad, hooroar!' To which Mr
Toots, wholly at a loss to account for these proceedings, replied with great
politeness, 'Certainly, Captain Gills, whatever you think proper!'
The weather-beaten pea-coat, and a no less weather-beaten cap and
comforter belonging to it, turned from the Captain and from Florence back to
Walter, and sounds came from the weather-beaten pea-coat, cap, and
comforter, as of an old man sobbing underneath them; while the shaggy
sleeves clasped Walter tight. During this pause, there was an universal
silence, and the Captain polished his nose with great diligence. But when
the pea-coat, cap, and comforter lifted themselves up again, Florence gently
moved towards them; and she and Walter taking them off, disclosed the old
Instrument-maker, a little thinner and more careworn than of old, in his old
Welsh wig and his old coffee-coloured coat and basket buttons, with his old
infallible chronometer ticking away in his pocket.
'Chock full o' science,' said the radiant Captain, 'as ever he was! Sol
Gills, Sol Gills, what have you been up to, for this many a long day, my
ould boy?'
'I'm half blind, Ned,' said the old man, 'and almost deaf and dumb with
joy.'
'His wery woice,' said the Captain, looking round with an exultation to
which even his face could hardly render justice - 'his wery woice as chock
full o' science as ever it was! Sol Gills, lay to, my lad, upon your own
wines and fig-trees like a taut ould patriark as you are, and overhaul them
there adwentures o' yourn, in your own formilior woice. 'Tis the woice,'
said the Captain, impressively, and announcing a quotation with his hook,
'of the sluggard, I heerd him complain, you have woke me too soon, I must
slumber again. Scatter his ene-mies, and make 'em fall!'
The Captain sat down with the air of a man who had happily expressed
the feeling of everybody present, and immediately rose again to present Mr
Toots, who was much disconcerted by the arrival of anybody, appearing to
prefer a claim to the name of Gills.
'Although,' stammered Mr Toots, 'I had not the pleasure of your
acquaintance, Sir, before you were - you were - '
'Lost to sight, to memory dear,' suggested the Captain, in a low voice.
Exactly so, Captain Gills!' assented Mr Toots. 'Although I had not the
pleasure of your acquaintance, Mr - Mr Sols,' said Toots, hitting on that
name in the inspiration of a bright idea, 'before that happened, I have the
greatest pleasure, I assure you, in - you know, in knowing you. I hope,'
said Mr Toots, 'that you're as well as can be expected.'
With these courteous words, Mr Toots sat down blushing and chuckling.
The old Instrument-maker, seated in a corner between Walter and
Florence, and nodding at Polly, who was looking on, all smiles and delight,
answered the Captain thus:
'Ned Cuttle, my dear boy, although I have heard something of the
changes of events here, from my pleasant friend there - what a pleasant face
she has to be sure, to welcome a wanderer home!' said the old man, breaking
off, and rubbing his hands in his old dreamy way.
'Hear him!' cried the Captain gravely. ''Tis woman as seduces all
mankind. For which,' aside to Mr Toots, 'you'll overhaul your Adam and Eve,
brother.'
'I shall make a point of doing so, Captain Gills,' said Mr Toots.
'Although I have heard something of the changes of events, from her,'
resumed the Instrument-maker, taking his old spectacles from his pocket, and
putting them on his forehead in his old manner, 'they are so great and
unexpected, and I am so overpowered by the sight of my dear boy, and by
the,' - glancing at the downcast eyes of Florence, and not attempting to
finish the sentence - 'that I - I can't say much to-night. But my dear Ned
Cuttle, why didn't you write?'
The astonishment depicted in the Captain's features positively
frightened Mr Toots, whose eyes were quite fixed by it, so that he could not
withdraw them from his face.
'Write!' echoed the Captain. 'Write, Sol Gills?'
'Ay,' said the old man, 'either to Barbados, or Jamaica, or Demerara,
That was what I asked.'
'What you asked, Sol Gills?' repeated the Captain.
'Ay,' said the old man. 'Don't you know, Ned? Sure you have not
forgotten? Every time I wrote to you.'
The Captain took off his glazed hat, hung it on his hook, and smoothing
his hair from behind with his hand, sat gazing at the group around him: a
perfect image of wondering resignation.
'You don't appear to understand me, Ned!' observed old Sol.
'Sol Gills,' returned the Captain, after staring at him and the rest
for a long time, without speaking, 'I'm gone about and adrift. Pay out a
word or two respecting them adwenturs, will you! Can't I bring up, nohows?
Nohows?' said the Captain, ruminating, and staring all round.
'You know, Ned,' said Sol Gills, 'why I left here. Did you open my
packet, Ned?'
'Why, ay, ay,' said the Captain. 'To be sure, I opened the packet.'
'And read it?' said the old man.
'And read it,' answered the Captain, eyeing him attentively, and
proceeding to quote it from memory. '"My dear Ned Cuttle, when I left home
for the West Indies in forlorn search of intelligence of my dear-" There he
sits! There's Wal'r!' said the Captain, as if he were relieved by getting
hold of anything that was real and indisputable.
'Well, Ned. Now attend a moment!' said the old man. 'When I wrote first
- that was from Barbados - I said that though you would receive that letter
long before the year was out, I should be glad if you would open the packet,
as it explained the reason of my going away. Very good, Ned. When I wrote
the second, third, and perhaps the fourth times - that was from Jamaica - I
said I was in just the same state, couldn't rest, and couldn't come away
from that part of the world, without knowing that my boy was lost or saved.
When I wrote next - that, I think, was from Demerara, wasn't it?'
'That he thinks was from Demerara, warn't it!' said the Captain,
looking hopelessly round.
'I said,' proceeded old Sol, 'that still there was no certain
information got yet. That I found many captains and others, in that part of
the world, who had known me for years, and who assisted me with a passage
here and there, and for whom I was able, now and then, to do a little in
return, in my own craft. That everyone was sorry for me, and seemed to take
a sort of interest in my wanderings; and that I began to think it would be
my fate to cruise about in search of tidings of my boy, until I died.'
'Began to think as how he was a scientific Flying Dutchman!' said the
Captain, as before, and with great seriousness.
'But when the news come one day, Ned, - that was to Barbados, after I
got back there, - that a China trader home'ard bound had been spoke, that
had my boy aboard, then, Ned, I took passage in the next ship and came home;
arrived at home to-night to find it true, thank God!' said the old man,
devoutly.
The Captain, after bowing his head with great reverence, stared all
round the circle, beginning with Mr Toots, and ending with the
Instrument-maker; then gravely said:
'Sol Gills! The observation as I'm a-going to make is calc'lated to
blow every stitch of sail as you can carry, clean out of the bolt-ropes, and
bring you on your beam ends with a lurch. Not one of them letters was ever
delivered to Ed'ard Cuttle. Not one o' them letters,' repeated the Captain,
to make his declaration the more solemn and impressive, 'was ever delivered
unto Ed'ard Cuttle, Mariner, of England, as lives at home at ease, and doth
improve each shining hour!'
'And posted by my own hand! And directed by my own hand, Number nine
Brig Place!' exclaimed old Sol.
The colour all went out of the Captain's face and all came back again
in a glow.
'What do you mean, Sol Gills, my friend, by Number nine Brig Place?'
inquired the Captain.
'Mean? Your lodgings, Ned,' returned the old man. 'Mrs What's-her-name!
I shall forget my own name next, but I am behind the present time - I always
was, you recollect - and very much confused. Mrs - '
'Sol Gills!' said the Captain, as if he were putting the most
improbable case in the world, 'it ain't the name of MacStinger as you're a
trying to remember?'
'Of course it is!' exclaimed the Instrument-maker. 'To be sure Ned. Mrs
MacStinger!'
Captain Cuttle, whose eyes were now as wide open as they would be, and
the knobs upon whose face were perfectly luminous, gave a long shrill
whistle of a most melancholy sound, and stood gazing at everybody in a state
of speechlessness.
'Overhaul that there again, Sol Gills, will you be so kind?' he said at
last.
'All these letters,' returned Uncle Sol, beating time with the
forefinger of his right hand upon the palm of his left, with a steadiness
and distinctness that might have done honour, even to the infallible
chronometer in his pocket, 'I posted with my own hand, and directed with my
own hand, to Captain Cuttle, at Mrs MacStinger's, Number nine Brig Place.'
The Captain took his glazed hat off his hook, looked into it, put it
on, and sat down.
'Why, friends all,' said the Captain, staring round in the last state
of discomfiture, 'I cut and run from there!'
'And no one knew where you were gone, Captain Cuttle?' cried Walter
hastily.
'Bless your heart, Wal'r,' said the Captain, shaking his head, 'she'd
never have allowed o' my coming to take charge o' this here property.
Nothing could be done but cut and run. Lord love you, Wal'r!' said the
Captain, 'you've only seen her in a calm! But see her when her angry
passions rise - and make a note on!'
'I'd give it her!' remarked the Nipper, softly.
'Would you, do you think, my dear?' returned the Captain, with feeble
admiration. 'Well, my dear, it does you credit. But there ain't no wild
animal I wouldn't sooner face myself. I only got my chest away by means of a
friend as nobody's a match for. It was no good sending any letter there. She
wouldn't take in any letter, bless you,' said the Captain, 'under them
circumstances! Why, you could hardly make it worth a man's while to be the
postman!'
'Then it's pretty clear, Captain Cuttle, that all of us, and you and
Uncle Sol especially,' said Walter, 'may thank Mrs MacStinger for no small
anxiety.'
The general obligation in this wise to the determined relict of the
late Mr MacStinger, was so apparent, that the Captain did not contest the
point; but being in some measure ashamed of his position, though nobody
dwelt upon the subject, and Walter especially avoided it, remembering the
last conversation he and the Captain had held together respecting it, he
remained under a cloud for nearly five minutes - an extraordinary period for
him when that sun, his face, broke out once more, shining on all beholders
with extraordinary brilliancy; and he fell into a fit of shaking hands with
everybody over and over again.
At an early hour, but not before Uncle Sol and Walter had questioned
each other at some length about their voyages and dangers, they all, except
Walter, vacated Florence's room, and went down to the parlour. Here they
were soon afterwards joined by Walter, who told them Florence was a little
sorrowful and heavy-hearted, and had gone to bed. Though they could not have
disturbed her with their voices down there, they all spoke in a whisper
after this: and each, in his different way, felt very lovingly and gently
towards Walter's fair young bride: and a long explanation there was of
everything relating to her, for the satisfaction of Uncle Sol; and very
sensible Mr Toots was of the delicacy with which Walter made his name and
services important, and his presence necessary to their little council.
'Mr Toots,' said Walter, on parting with him at the house door, 'we
shall see each other to-morrow morning?'
'Lieutenant Walters,' returned Mr Toots, grasping his hand fervently,
'I shall certainly be present.
'This is the last night we shall meet for a long time - the last night
we may ever meet,' said Walter. 'Such a noble heart as yours, must feel, I
think, when another heart is bound to it. I hope you know that I am very
grateful to you?'
'Walters,' replied Mr Toots, quite touched, 'I should be glad to feel
that you had reason to be so.'
'Florence,' said Walter, 'on this last night of her bearing her own
name, has made me promise - it was only just now, when you left us together
- that I would tell you - with her dear love - '
Mr Toots laid his hand upon the doorpost, and his eyes upon his hand.
- with her dear love,' said Walter, 'that she can never have a friend
whom she will value above you. That the recollection of your true
consideration for her always, can never be forgotten by her. That she
remembers you in her prayers to-night, and hopes that you will think of her
when she is far away. Shall I say anything for you?'
'Say, Walter,' replied Mr Toots indistinctly, 'that I shall think of
her every day, but never without feeling happy to know that she is married
to the man she loves, and who loves her. Say, if you please, that I am sure
her husband deserves her - even her!- and that I am glad of her choice.'
Mr Toots got more distinct as he came to these last words, and raising
his eyes from the doorpost, said them stoutly. He then shook Walter's hand
again with a fervour that Walter was not slow to return and started
homeward.
Mr Toots was accompanied by the Chicken, whom he had of late brought
with him every evening, and left in the shop, with an idea that unforeseen
circumstances might arise from without, in which the prowess of that
distinguished character would be of service to the Midshipman. The Chicken
did not appear to be in a particularly good humour on this occasion. Either
the gas-lamps were treacherous, or he cocked his eye in a hideous manner,
and likewise distorted his nose, when Mr Toots, crossing the road, looked
back over his shoulder at the room where Florence slept. On the road home,
he was more demonstrative of aggressive intentions against the other
foot-passengers, than comported with a professor of the peaceful art of
self-defence. Arrived at home, instead of leaving Mr Toots in his apartments
when he had escorted him thither, he remained before him weighing his white
hat in both hands by the brim, and twitching his head and nose (both of
which had been many times broken, and but indifferently repaired), with an
air of decided disrespect.
His patron being much engaged with his own thoughts, did not observe
this for some time, nor indeed until the Chicken, determined not to be
overlooked, had made divers clicking sounds with his tongue and teeth, to
attract attention.
'Now, Master,' said the Chicken, doggedly, when he, at length, caught
Mr Toots's eye, 'I want to know whether this here gammon is to finish it, or
whether you're a going in to win?'
'Chicken,' returned Mr Toots, 'explain yourself.'
'Why then, here's all about it, Master,' said the Chicken. 'I ain't a
cove to chuck a word away. Here's wot it is. Are any on 'em to be doubled
up?'
When the Chicken put this question he dropped his hat, made a dodge and
a feint with his left hand, hit a supposed enemy a violent blow with his
right, shook his head smartly, and recovered himself'
'Come, Master,' said the Chicken. 'Is it to be gammon or pluck? Which?'
Chicken,' returned Mr Toots, 'your expressions are coarse, and your
meaning is obscure.'
'Why, then, I tell you what, Master,' said the Chicken. 'This is where
it is. It's mean.'
'What is mean, Chicken?' asked Mr Toots.
'It is,' said the Chicken, with a frightful corrugation of his broken
nose. 'There! Now, Master! Wot! When you could go and blow on this here
match to the stiff'un;' by which depreciatory appellation it has been since
supposed that the Game One intended to signify Mr Dombey; 'and when you
could knock the winner and all the kit of 'em dead out o' wind and time, are
you going to give in? To give in? 'said the Chicken, with contemptuous
emphasis. 'Wy, it's mean!'
'Chicken,' said Mr Toots, severely, 'you're a perfect Vulture! Your
sentiments are atrocious.'
'My sentiments is Game and Fancy, Master,' returned the Chicken.
'That's wot my sentiments is. I can't abear a meanness. I'm afore the
public, I'm to be heerd on at the bar of the Little Helephant, and no
Gov'ner o' mine mustn't go and do what's mean. Wy, it's mean,' said the
Chicken, with increased expression. 'That's where it is. It's mean.'
'Chicken,' said Mr Toots, 'you disgust me.'
'Master,' returned the Chicken, putting on his hat, 'there's a pair on
us, then. Come! Here's a offer! You've spoke to me more than once't or
twice't about the public line. Never mind! Give me a fi'typunnote to-morrow,
and let me go.'
'Chicken,' returned Mr Toots, 'after the odious sentiments you have
expressed, I shall be glad to part on such terms.'
'Done then,' said the Chicken. 'It's a bargain. This here conduct of
yourn won't suit my book, Master. Wy, it's mean,' said the Chicken; who
seemed equally unable to get beyond that point, and to stop short of it.
'That's where it is; it's mean!'
So Mr Toots and the Chicken agreed to part on this incompatibility of
moral perception; and Mr Toots lying down to sleep, dreamed happily of
Florence, who had thought of him as her friend upon the last night of her
maiden life, and who had sent him her dear love.
Another Wedding
Mr Sownds the beadle, and Mrs Miff the pew-opener, are early at their
posts in the fine church where Mr Dombey was married. A yellow-faced old
gentleman from India, is going to take unto himself a young wife this
morning, and six carriages full of company are expected, and Mrs Miff has
been informed that the yellow-faced old gentleman could pave the road to
church with diamonds and hardly miss them. The nuptial benediction is to be
a superior one, proceeding from a very reverend, a dean, and the lady is to
be given away, as an extraordinary present, by somebody who comes express
from the Horse Guards
Mrs Miff is more intolerant of common people this morning, than she
generally is; and she his always strong opinions on that subject, for it is
associated with free sittings. Mrs Miff is not a student of political
economy (she thinks the science is connected with dissenters; 'Baptists or
Wesleyans, or some o' them,' she says), but she can never understand what
business your common folks have to be married. 'Drat 'em,' says Mrs Miff
'you read the same things over 'em' and instead of sovereigns get
sixpences!'
Mr Sownds the beadle is more liberal than Mrs Miff - but then he is not
a pew-opener. 'It must be done, Ma'am,' he says. 'We must marry 'em. We must
have our national schools to walk at the head of, and we must have our
standing armies. We must marry 'em, Ma'am,' says Mr Sownds, 'and keep the
country going.'
Mr Sownds is sitting on the steps and Mrs Miff is dusting in the
church, when a young couple, plainly dressed, come in. The mortified bonnet
of Mrs Miff is sharply turned towards them, for she espies in this early
visit indications of a runaway match. But they don't want to be married -
'Only,' says the gentleman, 'to walk round the church.' And as he slips a
genteel compliment into the palm of Mrs Miff, her vinegary face relaxes, and
her mortified bonnet and her spare dry figure dip and crackle.
Mrs Miff resumes her dusting and plumps up her cushions - for the
yellow-faced old gentleman is reported to have tender knees - but keeps her
glazed, pew-opening eye on the young couple who are walking round the
church. 'Ahem,' coughs Mrs Miff whose cough is drier than the hay in any
hassock in her charge, 'you'll come to us one of these mornings, my dears,
unless I'm much mistaken!'
They are looking at a tablet on the wall, erected to the memory of
someone dead. They are a long way off from Mrs Miff, but Mrs Miff can see
with half an eye how she is leaning on his arm, and how his head is bent
down over her. 'Well, well,' says Mrs Miff, 'you might do worse. For you're
a tidy pair!'
There is nothing personal in Mrs Miff's remark. She merely speaks of
stock-in-trade. She is hardly more curious in couples than in coffins. She
is such a spare, straight, dry old lady - such a pew of a woman - that you
should find as many individual sympathies in a chip. Mr Sownds, now, who is
fleshy, and has scarlet in his coat, is of a different temperament. He says,
as they stand upon the steps watching the young couple away, that she has a
pretty figure, hasn't she, and as well as he could see (for she held her
head down coming out), an uncommon pretty face. 'Altogether, Mrs Miff,' says
Mr Sownds with a relish, 'she is what you may call a rose-bud.'
Mrs Miff assents with a spare nod of her mortified bonnet; but approves
of this so little, that she inwardly resolves she wouldn't be the wife of Mr
Sownds for any money he could give her, Beadle as he is.
And what are the young couple saying as they leave the church, and go
out at the gate?
'Dear Walter, thank you! I can go away, now, happy.'
'And when we come back, Florence, we will come and see his grave
again.'
Florence lifts her eyes, so bright with tears, to his kind face; and
clasps her disengaged hand on that other modest little hand which clasps his
arm.
'It is very early, Walter, and the streets are almost empty yet. Let us
walk.'
'But you will be so tired, my love.'
'Oh no! I was very tired the first time that we ever walked together,
but I shall not be so to-day.' And thus - not much changed - she, as
innocent and earnest-hearted - he, as frank, as hopeful, and more proud of
her - Florence and Walter, on their bridal morning, walk through the streets
together.
Not even in that childish walk of long ago, were they so far removed
from all the world about them as to-day. The childish feet of long ago, did
not tread such enchanted ground as theirs do now. The confidence and love of
children may be given many times, and will spring up in many places; but the
woman's heart of Florence, with its undivided treasure, can be yielded only
once, and under slight or change, can only droop and die.
They take the streets that are the quietest, and do not go near that in
which her old home stands. It is a fair, warm summer morning, and the sun
shines on them, as they walk towards the darkening mist that overspreads the
City. Riches are uncovering in shops; jewels, gold, and silver flash in the
goldsmith's sunny windows; and great houses cast a stately shade upon them
as they pass. But through the light, and through the shade, they go on
lovingly together, lost to everything around; thinking of no other riches,
and no prouder home, than they have now in one another.
Gradually they come into the darker, narrower streets, where the sun,
now yellow, and now red, is seen through the mist, only at street corners,
and in small open spaces where there is a tree, or one of the innumerable
churches, or a paved way and a flight of steps, or a curious little patch of
garden, or a burying-ground, where the few tombs and tombstones are almost
black. Lovingly and trustfully, through all the narrow yards and alleys and
the shady streets, Florence goes, clinging to his arm, to be his wife.
Her heart beats quicker now, for Walter tells her that their church is
very near. They pass a few great stacks of warehouses, with waggons at the
doors, and busy carmen stopping up the way - but Florence does not see or
hear them - and then the air is quiet, and the day is darkened, and she is
trembling in a church which has a strange smell like a cellar.
The shabby little old man, ringer of the disappointed bell, is standing
in the porch, and has put his hat in the font - for he is quite at home
there, being sexton. He ushers them into an old brown, panelled, dusty
vestry, like a corner-cupboard with the shelves taken out; where the wormy
registers diffuse a smell like faded snuff, which has set the tearful Nipper
sneezing.
Youthful, and how beautiful, the young bride looks, in this old dusty
place, with no kindred object near her but her husband. There is a dusty old
clerk, who keeps a sort of evaporated news shop underneath an archway
opposite, behind a perfect fortification of posts. There is a dusty old
pew-opener who only keeps herself, and finds that quite enough to do. There
is a dusty old beadle (these are Mr Toots's beadle and pew-opener of last
Sunday), who has something to do with a Worshipful Company who have got a
Hall in the next yard, with a stained-glass window in it that no mortal ever
saw. There are dusty wooden ledges and cornices poked in and out over the
altar, and over the screen and round the gallery, and over the inscription
about what the Master and Wardens of the Worshipful Company did in one
thousand six hundred and ninety-four. There are dusty old sounding-boards
over the pulpit and reading-desk, looking like lids to be let down on the
officiating ministers in case of their giving offence. There is every
possible provision for the accommodation of dust, except in the churchyard,
where the facilities in that respect are very limited. The Captain, Uncle
Sol, and Mr Toots are come; the clergyman is putting on his surplice in the
vestry, while the clerk walks round him, blowing the dust off it; and the
bride and bridegroom stand before the altar. There is no bridesmaid, unless
Susan Nipper is one; and no better father than Captain Cuttle. A man with a
wooden leg, chewing a faint apple and carrying a blue bag in has hand, looks
in to see what is going on; but finding it nothing entertaining, stumps off
again, and pegs his way among the echoes out of doors.
No gracious ray of light is seen to fall on Florence, kneeling at the
altar with her timid head bowed down. The morning luminary is built out, and
don't shine there. There is a meagre tree outside, where the sparrows are
chirping a little; and there is a blackbird in an eyelet-hole of sun in a
dyer's garret, over against the window, who whistles loudly whilst the
service is performing; and there is the man with the wooden leg stumping
away. The amens of the dusty clerk appear, like Macbeth's, to stick in his
throat a little'; but Captain Cuttle helps him out, and does it with so much
goodwill that he interpolates three entirely new responses of that word,
never introduced into the service before.
They are married, and have signed their names in one of the old sneezy
registers, and the clergyman's surplice is restored to the dust, and the
clergymam is gone home. In a dark corner of the dark church, Florence has
turned to Susan Nipper, and is weeping in her arms. Mr Toots's eyes are red.
The Captain lubricates his nose. Uncle Sol has pulled down his spectacles
from his forehead, and walked out to the door.
'God bless you, Susan; dearest Susan! If you ever can bear witness to
the love I have for Walter, and the reason that I have to love him, do it
for his sake. Good-bye! Good-bye!'
They have thought it better not to go back to the Midshipman, but to
part so; a coach is waiting for them, near at hand.
Miss Nipper cannot speak; she only sobs and chokes, and hugs her
mistress. Mr Toots advances, urges her to cheer up, and takes charge of her.
Florence gives him her hand - gives him, in the fulness of her heart, her
lips - kisses Uncle Sol, and Captain Cuttle, and is borne away by her young
husband.
But Susan cannot bear that Florence should go away with a mournful
recollection of her. She had meant to be so different, that she reproaches
herself bitterly. Intent on making one last effort to redeem her character,
she breaks from Mr Toots and runs away to find the coach, and show a parting
smile. The Captain, divining her object, sets off after her; for he feels it
his duty also to dismiss them with a cheer, if possible. Uncle Sol and Mr
Toots are left behind together, outside the church, to wait for them.
The coach is gone, but the street is steep, and narrow, and blocked up,
and Susan can see it at a stand-still in the distance, she is sure. Captain
Cuttle follows her as she flies down the hill, and waves his glazed hat as a
general signal, which may attract the right coach and which may not.
Susan outstrips the Captain, and comes up with it. She looks in at the
window, sees Walter, with the gentle face beside him, and claps her hands
and screams:
'Miss Floy, my darling! look at me! We are all so happy now, dear! One
more good-bye, my precious, one more!'
How Susan does it, she don't know, but she reaches to the window,
kisses her, and has her arms about her neck, in a moment.
We are all so happy now, my dear Miss Floy!' says Susan, with a
suspicious catching in her breath. 'You, you won't be angry with me now. Now
will you?'
'Angry, Susan!'
'No, no; I am sure you won't. I say you won't, my pet, my dearest!'
exclaims Susan; 'and here's the Captain too - your friend the Captain, you
know - to say good-bye once more!'
'Hooroar, my Heart's Delight!' vociferates the Captain, with a
countenance of strong emotion. 'Hooroar, Wal'r my lad. Hooroar! Hooroar!'
What with the young husband at one window, and the young wife at the
other; the Captain hanging on at this door, and Susan Nipper holding fast by
that; the coach obliged to go on whether it will or no, and all the other
carts and coaches turbulent because it hesitates; there never was so much
confusion on four wheels. But Susan Nipper gallantly maintains her point.
She keeps a smiling face upon her mistress, smiling through her tears, until
the last. Even when she is left behind, the Captain continues to appear and
disappear at the door, crying 'Hooroar, my lad! Hooroar, my Heart's
Delight!' with his shirt-collar in a violent state of agitation, until it is
hopeless to attempt to keep up with the coach any longer. Finally, when the
coach is gone, Susan Nipper, being rejoined by the Captain, falls into a
state of insensibility, and is taken into a baker's shop to recover.
Uncle Sol and Mr Toots wait patiently in the churchyard, sitting on the
coping-stone of the railings, until Captain Cuttle and Susan come back,
Neither being at all desirous to speak, or to be spoken to, they are
excellent company, and quite satisfied. When they all arrive again at the
little Midshipman, and sit down to breakfast, nobody can touch a morsel.
Captain Cuttle makes a feint of being voracious about toast, but gives it up
as a swindle. Mr Toots says, after breakfast, he will come back in the
evening; and goes wandering about the town all day, with a vague sensation
upon him as if he hadn't been to bed for a fortnight.
There is a strange charm in the house, and in the room, in which they
have been used to be together, and out of which so much is gone. It
aggravates, and yet it soothes, the sorrow of the separation. Mr Toots tells
Susan Nipper when he comes at night, that he hasn't been so wretched all day
long, and yet he likes it. He confides in Susan Nipper, being alone with
her, and tells her what his feelings were when she gave him that candid
opinion as to the probability of Miss Dombey's ever loving him. In the vein
of confidence engendered by these common recollections, and their tears, Mr
Toots proposes that they shall go out together, and buy something for
supper. Miss Nipper assenting, they buy a good many little things; and, with
the aid of Mrs Richards, set the supper out quite showily before the Captain
and old Sol came home.
The Captain and old Sol have been on board the ship, and have
established Di there, and have seen the chests put aboard. They have much to
tell about the popularity of Walter, and the comforts he will have about
him, and the quiet way in which it seems he has been working early and late,
to make his cabin what the Captain calls 'a picter,' to surprise his little
wife. 'A admiral's cabin, mind you,' says the Captain, 'ain't more trim.'
But one of the Captain's chief delights is, that he knows the big
watch, and the sugar-tongs, and tea-spoons, are on board: and again and
again he murmurs to himself, 'Ed'ard Cuttle, my lad, you never shaped a
better course in your life than when you made that there little property
over jintly. You see how the land bore, Ed'ard,' says the Captain, 'and it
does you credit, my lad.'
The old Instrument-maker is more distraught and misty than he used to
be, and takes the marriage and the parting very much to heart. But he is
greatly comforted by having his old ally, Ned Cuttle, at his side; and he
sits down to supper with a grateful and contented face.
'My boy has been preserved and thrives,' says old Sol Gills, rubbing
his hands. 'What right have I to be otherwise than thankful and happy!'
The Captain, who has not yet taken his seat at the table, but who has
been fidgeting about for some time, and now stands hesitating in his place,